


Sherlock the Bridezilla

by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Molly, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Molly Hooper/Mary Morstan Friendship, Sherlock is Trying His Best, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly Fic Exchange 2017, much sappiness, wedding shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace/pseuds/TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Molly Hooper would be perfectly happy with a quiet, simple wedding with some champagne and chips afterwards.   Sherlock, well...  Sherlock has other ideas.He means well, bless him.





	Sherlock the Bridezilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelsong87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsong87/gifts).



> This is the prompt that spoke to me:
> 
> Ok this prompt is super cracky but I just want Molly and Sherlock ms wedding. But I like the idea that Molly is like super chill and blasé about the whole thing. But Sherlock goes full bridezilla and uses all the skills he learned from John and Mary's wedding and even more because he wants the wedding to be perfect for Molly, and then when something enevitably goes wrong and he has a freak out Molly comes and saves the day.
> 
> I had a lot of fun with it, and I hope you enjoy!

He asked her to marry him almost in the same breath that he told her he loved her.  Honestly, she wasn’t even surprised.  It was so very Sherlock—she loved him, he loved her, they’d known each other for _years_ , so what was the point of wasting even more time dating?  Best to just get married as soon as possible.  No muss, no fuss, and straight on to the business of living.

Only…it didn’t _quite_ work out that way.

Molly would have been perfectly happy to pop round to the registry office one evening after work, preferably with the Watsons as witnesses, and get the ceremony over and done with.  She didn’t need a fancy day-long ceremony, an expensive dress, or even a party.  She had Sherlock, and he was more than enough.  Sherlock, on the other hand, had different ideas.

‘I know you’ve always dreamed of a fairy tale wedding, Molly,’ he’d told her, looking down at her with those earnest, puppy-dog eyes that she still couldn’t resist, no matter how much age and wisdom she’d gain in the course of her relationship with the consulting prat.  He lifted a hand, delicately cupping her cheek.  ‘You never ask me for anything.  Please, let me do this for you.’

She’d melted a little and agreed, of course.  Stupid puppy-dog eyes.  But he was being so sweet, and really, short of a murderous photographer using their wedding to realize his Inigo Montoya-esque quest for vengeance (and statistically speaking, the odds of that happening twice were reassuringly low), what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 

Quite a lot, as it turned out.

‘This was a mistake,’ she told Mary faintly.  They were sitting on the couch at Baker Street, watching in awed fascination as Sherlock folded serviettes.  Well, Molly was awed.  Mary was drinking tea and smirking.

‘That’s right, you were too busy trying to make a go of it with Meat Dagger in the run up to our wedding, weren’t you?’ she asked, patting Molly’s shoulder.  ‘You should have come to me.  I’d’ve warned you.’

‘Tom.  Not Meat Dagger.  Honestly, Mary, you’re as bad as Sherlock.’

As if summoned, Sherlock whirled around and shoved a tray under Molly’s nose.  ‘Alright, Molly, which do you prefer, the rose, the lotus, or the skull?’

Molly blinked at the exquisite cloth sculptures.  Mary leaned over and whispered loudly, ‘His powers are increasing.  Soon he will be unstoppable, and the world will fall.’

He shot her a quelling look.  ‘You’re just jealous because you had to choose between swans and the Sidney Opera House.  I’ve had a chance to practice since then.’

Molly grinned.  ‘I _do_ rather like the skull,’ she admitted sheepishly.  ‘It’s very us, isn’t it?’ 

Sherlock beamed at her.  ‘My thoughts exactly!’

Mary rolled her eyes.  ‘Made for each other, the pair of you.  I still can’t _believe_ it took you so long to realize it.’

‘Don’t you have a husband and child to see to, Mrs. Watson?’ he asked primly.

Mary laughed.  ‘Subtle, Mr. Holmes.  Subtle.  But as it happens, yes, I do, so I’ll take this as my cue to leave.  Lovely seeing you, Molly.  Do let me know if you need rescuing from cloth origami.’

‘I think I’ll manage, but thanks for the offer.’  Molly got to her feet, walking Mary to the door as Sherlock returned to brooding over serviettes like a curly-headed chicken.  ‘Give my love to John and Rosie!’

‘Of course!  She’s so excited to be the flower girl.  Thanks again for asking her.’

‘It’s our pleasure!  Sherlock and I agreed that we couldn’t think of anyone more perfect!’

‘Never mind the fact that we don’t actually know anyone else who would be remotely suitable!’ Sherlock yelled after them, causing them to exchange wry smiles.

Mary lowered her voice.  ‘But seriously, Molly, call me if you need help with _anything_.  You might think it’s funny now, but serviettes are only the beginning.  Just wait until he starts quibbling over colours and cake flavours and telling you who in your families hates you.’

Molly shrugged.  ‘Thanks, Mary, but really, I’m not worried.  It’s just me and my mum, and everyone in Sherlock’s family likes me better than they like him.  And don’t forget, I’ve had loads of experience with Sherlock quibbling.  I’ll be fine.’

Mary didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue any more.  Molly waved her off, and returned upstairs to find the sitting room—as well as half the kitchen—covered in skull serviettes.  It looked like the Paths of the Dead after the skull avalanche in _Return_ _of_ _the_ _King_.  She picked her way carefully through the carnage to Sherlock’s side, going on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek.  At least, it was supposed to be a quick kiss, but as she pulled away, he caught her around the waist and drew her back for a proper snog.  The second time she pulled back, they were both flushed and breathless.  It still gave her a thrill that she was able to do that to him.

‘Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?’

‘Do I need a reason to kiss my fiancée?’

‘Mmmmm, no, I rather think you don’t.’  She reached up and brushed his curls out of his eyes.  His eyes drifted shut as her fingers ghosted over his forehead.  ‘Nice work with the serviettes.  That’s one less thing to worry about.’

He hummed contentedly.  ‘Did you ask Mary to be your matron of honour?’

‘Yup.’  She popped the P, making him smile.  ‘She’s quite looking forward to sleeping with the best man.’

‘Well, it’s probably a good thing all around that I didn’t ask Mycroft to be my best man, isn’t it?’

She swatted his arm.  ‘The pair of you love each other too much to inflict that kind of suffering on yourselves.’  Moving to her things, she pulled out her phone, ignoring Sherlock’s pout.  ‘What sounds good for dinner?  Indian?  Thai?  Chips?’

‘I wasn’t actually planning on eating.’

‘It’s our wedding, not a case, Holmes.’  He opened his mouth, but she held up a finger.  ‘I’ll cuddle with you while we go over the guest list, but only if you eat something.’

Heaving a dramatic sigh, he flopped into his chair.  ‘Fine.  Indian, then.  We haven’t had that for a while.’  He squinted grumpily at her.  ‘You’re a pushy woman, Hooper.’

She snickered and rolled her eyes.  ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ she asked after placing their order.  Snagging the guest list, she poked his legs with her toe.  ‘Bunch up, please.  Can’t cuddle if I’m worried about falling to the floor.’

He pulled her snugly onto his lap.  ‘Molly Hooper, you’ll never have to worry about falling as long as I’m there to catch you.’

‘You are a romantic sap and I love you very much.  Now, do you think we’ll be okay with just inviting Greg, Sally, and Anderson, or should we ask a few more from NSY, just in case?’

‘ _Anderson?'_   His face scrunched up in adorable disgust.  ‘Why on _earth_ would we invite _Anderson?’_

‘I thought the pair of you were getting along better.’

‘Not enough to invite him to my wedding.’

‘ _Our_ wedding,’ she reminded him with a reproving elbow to his ribs.   ‘Besides, he ships us so hard, Sherlock!  And he believed in you when hardly anyone else did.’

‘Oh, sure, but only after doing everything he could to discredit me.’

‘It would break his heart to be left out!’

He shrugged.  ‘I can live with that.’

‘Please, Sherlock?’  She looked at him with big, sad eyes.  ‘For me?’

Sherlock Holmes wasn't the only one who could deploy puppy-dog eyes to their advantage.  ‘Alright, fine.  But he's sitting on your side of the church.’

* * *

 

The door banged open, jolting her from sleep.  ‘Molly!  Wake up!’

Groaning, she flipped onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head.  ‘Go ’way, Sherlock.’

‘It’s an emergency!’  He grabbed her foot and shook it.

She kicked blindly at him with her other foot.  ‘What’s the rule about emergencies?’

His eye roll was practically audible.  ‘Unless there’s a fresh corpse in immediate need of an autopsy and a serial killer on the loose, it can wait until morning,’ he recited with a huff.

‘Are there any dead bodies?  Other than yours, if you’ve woken me up for anything less than the second coming of Jack the Ripper?’

‘Now Molly, you should at least wait until after the honeymoon before you murder me.’

‘ _What_ do you _want_ , Sherlock?’ she growled.

‘I’ve just found out that the bridesmaids’ dresses are in Bumblebee, but the groomsmen cravats are only available in Pineapple!’

Slowly, excruciatingly, she emerged from beneath her pillow and twisted to stare at him.  ‘You woke me up in the middle of the night for dress colours?’

‘They won’t match!’

‘Oh, well, then the wedding’s canceled.  It was nice being engaged to you, and I’ll see you at Barts the next time there’s a case.’

He wiggled her foot accusingly.  ‘You’re not taking this seriously!’

‘I’ll tell you what I’m taking seriously—my alibi for when Greg comes to tell me about your tragic and unsolvable murder.’

‘But Molly—’

‘OUT!’  She’d always been proud of her eye-hand coordination and it didn’t fail her now as the pillow she lobbed beaned him square on the nose with a satisfying _thwack_.

That would teach him not to clear off when he had the chance.

‘Obviously this was a bad time,’ he said, his voice nasally and muffled from the hand he held over his nose.  ‘We’ll discuss this again when you’re feeling more reasonable.’  He ducked out of her room before she could throw another pillow at him.

‘Pro tip:  maybe not at Barts.  I have access to scalpels there,’ she muttered as she burrowed back under her duvet in an attempt to salvage what remained of her night’s sleep.

* * *

 

Sherlock proved that he was a smart man by dropping by the lab with coffee and a contrite heart the next day.

Technically it was later the same day, but the promise of caffeine was making her feel magnanimous.

‘Molly, I’m sorry for waking you up last night even though I knew you had to work today.  It was rude and inconsiderate, and I’m grateful you merely threw a pillow at me instead of a book.  Or Toby.’

She took a thoughtful sip of coffee.  ‘I’d never do that to Toby.  I forgive you, but don’t try making a habit of it.  Pretty apologies and coffee don’t do a whole lot to offset sleep deprivation.  Since I was up early,’ she eyed him pointedly, ‘I did some research.  The dresses and cravats come from two different shops, but they buy their fabric from the same warehouse.  It’s exactly the same shade of yellow, they just gave them different names.  I guess “bumblebee” isn’t manly enough or something.’

‘Oh.’  He clasped his hands behind his back, a sheepish grin wrinkling his pink-tinged cheeks.  ‘That, um, that makes sense, doesn’t it?’

She nodded solemnly, hiding a smile behind her cup.  ‘I think so, yes.’

 ‘Personally, I’d rather wear bumblebee than pineapple, but it would be simpler all around if they would just call it yellow.’

‘And that’s why you’re a consulting detective and not a fashion designer.’  Setting the coffee on her desk, she stood up to peck his cheek.  ‘Now unless you have any other problems you need me to solve, dragons to slay, days to save, there’s a body downstairs with my name on it.  Well, really, the name on it is McGillicutty, but my name is on the paperwork.’

‘I should put the finishing touches on the flower arrangements.  If I run into any dragons, I’ll let you know.’  He winked at her and breezed out of the lab.

She shook her head, laughing as she locked her computer and gathered the paperwork in preparation to head to the morgue.  She’d barely made it out of her office when the doors banged open and Sherlock swept back into the lab.  She blinked, smiling a little.  ‘Sherlock?  Did you forget something?’

‘Yes.  This,’ he said, cupping her face and kissing her deeply.

When they broke apart, her fingers were buried in the curls at the back of his neck while his hands had migrated south to span her back and waist.  She kept her eyes closed as he rested his forehead against hers.  ‘I can’t believe you forgot that.’

‘Yes, terribly careless of me.’  He pressed another kiss to her mouth, and she could feel him smile against her lips.  ‘I trust I’ve made up for it, though.’

She grinned, returning the kiss.  ‘Don’t let it happen again, Holmes.’

‘Of course not, Hooper.’

* * *

 

Mary was helping Molly into her dress when her phone started ringing insistently.

‘A fiver says I know who that is,’ Mary said with a grin.

‘No bet.’  Molly carefully picked up the phone before returning to her place in front of the mirror.  ‘Hello, Sherlock.  You do realize we’re getting married in less than an hour.  I know for a fact that Mycroft has the city practically on lockdown, so don’t tell me there’s a case.’

‘Worse!  John was reading back my checklist—see, John, I _told_ you the checklist was a good idea—and I realized we’d forgotten to hire a photographer.’

 _‘What do you mean, “we,” mate?’_   Molly could just make out John’s indignant demand over the line.

Sherlock let out a huff.  ‘Yes, alright, fine.  _I_ forgot to hire a photographer.  I was going to do in-depth background checks on the candidates with the best portfolios, but then Lestrade called with a case—you remember, the matryoshka doll honey bee smuggling ring—’

‘Mmm, yes I do.  Eight, wasn’t it?’

‘ _Exactly_.  I knew you’d understand.  Anyway, between that, the cake, the menu, and writing the song for our first dance, I never got back to completing the background checks.’

‘Those are all important too, Sherlock,’ she said soothingly.

‘I know that, Molly, but this is your special day, and now you won’t even have pictures of it.’

‘It’s _our_ special day, and don’t worry.  I’ll take care of everything.’

‘But Molly—’

‘No buts.  I’ll see you at the church, alright?’

His warm chuckle made her stomach flip, even over the phone.  ‘Alright.  I love you, Hooper.’

‘Love you too, Holmes.  Bye!’  She marched over to her window and threw it open, Mary trailing behind her to hold the dress closed.  Sticking her head out, she scanned the street until she saw her target.  ‘Oi!  Wiggins!’

The scruffy man straightened marginally.  ‘Yes, Missus?’

‘Find Annie and tell her there’s two hundred quid, dinner, and a camera in it for her if she comes and takes pictures of the wedding.’

He smirked.  ‘Shezza forget to hire a photographer, then?’

‘Nice deduction.  Will you do it?  There’s fifty quid and dinner in it for you if you play assistant,’ she added.

Tugging an imaginary forelock, he declared grandly, ‘We’ll be there in our Sunday best.  Felicitations to you and Shezza, Missus.’

She grinned and blew him a kiss.  ‘Thanks, Wiggins!  You’re a lamb! 

‘Annie takes the most gorgeous pictures,’ she told Mary as she pulled back inside and shut the window.  ‘She could really make a career out of it if she wanted.’

‘Yes, that’s lovely, can’t wait to see how they turn out, will you _please_ stand still long enough for me to zip you up?’

Molly pouted, but stayed still.  ‘You’re supposed to be nice to me, Watson.  It’s my wedding day!’

Mary rolled her eyes.  ‘Oh, for goodness, sake, just because you’re marrying Sherlock doesn’t mean you have to talk like him!’

Molly stuck her tongue out at Mary’s reflection.  ‘Still not hearing you be nice to me!’

* * *

 

Much of the actual ceremony was a blur, interspersed with moments of intense clarity, such as when Sherlock caught sight of Annie with her camera, causing him to beam proudly at Molly as her mother walked her down the aisle.  When she came up beside him, he’d reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her soundly and ignoring Mary’s whistles and John yelling something about it not being that part of the ceremony yet (not to mention the wild cheering of Anderson from his spot half-hidden behind one of the columns at the very back of the church).  Instead, Sherlock grinned at Molly and whispered, ‘You are a brilliant woman, Hooper.’

‘You’re pretty bright yourself, Holmes,’ she replied with a wink.

Now they were dancing to _You Get Me_ by Michelle Branch (Sherlock had loaded the play list with all of Molly's favourite dance songs, though she'd made sure to slip a few classical pieces in as well).  As they glided around the floor, Molly caught sight of Annie and Wiggins lurking around the perimeter of the room, Annie taking pictures and Wiggins taking food.

‘I think we can declare this a success, Mr. Holmes,’ Molly said as he spun her out and back.  ‘If you ever get tired of the consulting detective business, you could make a career as a wedding planner.’

He shuddered theatrically.  ‘I think not, Mrs. Holmes.  Mycroft had me go undercover as a wedding planner for three months while I was dead.  That was more than enough for any lifetime.’

‘So _that's_ where you learned all of this?’  She’d wondered.  He seemed far more comfortable with the ins and outs of wedding planning than could be explained by the Watsons’ wedding alone. 

‘That and YouTube, yes.’

‘I'm surprised you didn't delete it as soon as you were done.’

‘Ah, yes, well.’  His ears turned pink.  ‘I _may_ have subconsciously stored the information in your room.  On the very slim chance that you, that is, that we…’

As his voice trailed off, she felt tears prick her eyes.  ‘You wonderful, ridiculous, _gorgeous_ man, that's the most beautiful thing you've ever—!’  Rather than burst into tears in the middle of the dance floor, she pulled him down and snogged him until they were both breathless, ignoring the catcalls that erupted and the Watsons yelling _Get a room!_ in unison.

This wedding, this life, was nothing like she'd envisioned as a little girl.  It was better, far better, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime after the wedding:  
> John, somewhat dazed: I can’t believe your wedding went more smoothly than mine.  
> Sherlock, smug: Well, you will insist on associating with people of questionable character.  
> John, still dazed: I can’t believe YOUR WEDDING went more smoothly than mine.  
> Sherlock: It’s not my fault people want to kill all your friends.  
> John: There wasn’t a murder or anything.  
> Sherlock: Bit of a letdown, I admit, but you can’t have everything. It’s not like you can order a nice triple homicide with your catering.


End file.
